Into Darkness - Damian Whitemead stories

Into Darkness

Damian Whitemead stories

She did not want to waste a Saturday afternoon, but her boss had given her the ticket and asked her to look into this new artist, Serge. Just Serge, no last name. Like Cher. She laughed to herself, pretentious douche probably. Sometimes she hated her job, hated how many mediocre artists she had to sift through to find one worth the attention her magazine could give them; one that did not only feed on their own desire for uniqueness but one with a talent that actually made them unique.

She took a deep breath and entered the exhibition room of Serge's 'Darkness' exhibition.

Sex.

The room reeked of it. It hung in the air like a heavy fog. There were not many people left but with a four-hour exhibition window a day most people had probably been there when it opened and not half an hour before closing like her. But she was not going to waste unnecessary time on this. Liking her job was one thing but spending her free time on it was not a priority of hers.

She looked around in the large dimly lit exhibition room trying to get a feel of the people still there which seemed to be mainly men in their 30's and above. She studied a group of men from a distance and accidentally locked eyes with a man standing nonchalantly leaning against the far wall.

He was tall and well built in a light grey suit. His shoulder length silver-white hair was pulled to one side and his intense eyes kept her standing like a deer in headlights.

She felt like he was devouring her.

It was not like when men at bars were undressing her with their eyes, that behavior she was more than used to, but his eyes burned into her and marked her.

Usually she would have nodded or sent a man like that a cold smile, she could not, all she could do was lower her eyes and break off contact and walk straight to the bar. Maybe a glass of complimentary champagne would make this less of a waste of time. And maybe calm her down a bit because she felt him following her every move.

Champagne in hand she finally gave the room a bit of attention being very careful not to look in his direction.

10 low round podiums spaced evenly apart with spotlights directed at mannequin dolls in different colored wigs in various leather, latex or rubber outfits tied in different positions with colorful bondage rope.

How generic.

She was inclined to just leave; dolls and back alley sex shop clothing was simply not worth her time. How anybody could even get an audience for an exhibition with something that stupid, she had no idea of.

And how her boss would have thought that it was something in a class their magazine would feature, she was in complete wonder of.

She finished her champagne and gave the glass to the bartender and walked over to the closest podium. Red haired wig one in black latex. The doll was posed on one leg in a twelve-inch platform shoe. The arms were tied at the elbows and wrists held straight backwards and kept up by a rope to a pulley in the ceiling. The other leg was tied chicken wing style and held out to the side with a rope to another pulley. Its head hung forward and the red hair that stuck out as a ponytail from the hood shone in the light directed at the podium.

In a sense it was beautiful, she thought, as she got closer. The way the light reflected in the latex and still gave a sense of the lines of the doll. She had to give Serge that credit. And she was certainly not happy about that.

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks...

Killer legs.

It was his first thought as he saw her enter the room. The rest was not bad either. Slender but with curves, wide hips, round perky breasts, long dirty blonde hair and an oval shaped face with big eyes. She moved gracefully but it was obvious in her body language that she did not want to be there. She looked to be both disgusted and bored at the same time.